Harry Potter and the Darkness Lament
by Frost4211
Summary: Harry and friends, along with a few others, have been accosted by an evil that is much more than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Their only chance at survival involves time travel and unexpected alliances. Super characters and enemies. Brace yourself for a long one. R&R.
1. Preface and Prologue: Where Angels Fear

Preface and Prologue 

PREFACE: This story is actually based on a dream I had. It was a very interesting dream. Characters will be acting out of character, time travel is involved, and evil comes in many greater shades than that of Tom Riddle. The pairings for this story are yet to be decided, if there end up being any at all, but I'll probably make it end up being Harmony or Honks. Or maybe both. Harry deserves a lot for The shit he goes through. As for others, could be any number of others, up to and including some homosexual pairings. There will be no (well, very little) slash, fem-slash, lemons, or whatever other slang terms you want to throw in for two people porking. There will be strong language, there will be adult themes, Dumblefucker is a manipulative old bastard but he's not evil, and Ron Weasley is an idiot, but he's not too bad of a guy. I'm going to be writing this as I go, as I have created no outline for it, nor have I ever written a fan-fiction of any description before. Also, there's lots of super characters, and an extremely fucked up villain. There's three Original Characters that The reader should be aware of and I will describe them here in case I forget or can't work it in to The story line.  
Victor Frost is an American hit wizard who is The same age as Harry. He's not exactly sane, but he's not a dangerous psychopath. He has a great deal of knowledge in combat magics and excels in The use of necromancy, assorted forms of death magic, and cutting spells. He's also not opposed to getting his hands dirty and going ape-shit with assorted merciless pieces of metal. He generally goes by The name of Frost. Frost is a natural Occlumens because of his particular breed of insanity.  
Seymore Barlow is another American hit wizard that belongs to The same trio as Frost. He is a master of battle transfiguration, normal transfiguration, and bludgeoning and explosive spells. He is a demolitions expert and is accomplished at taking down wards. His family is part giant, and he stands almost seven feet tall. He wears a family heirloom laced with ritual giant magic that Occludes his mind and also prevents him and anything or anyone in his immediate area from being located magically. Trained as an American hit wizard, he is not opposed to using physical violence when necessary, and often carries around a large battleaxe that was his great grandfather's.

Billy O'Hara forms The third to The American trio, and he picks up The slack where The others aren't there. He's an accomplished ward master and is great at charms. He uses many obscure spells in combat, as well as a few that he has created on his own. He has a genius IQ and an eidetic memory, making him second only to Hermione in The sheer amounts of book knowledge he possesses. He shuns physical combat more than The other two, but will get his hands dirty should The need arise. Of The three, he is The only one that actually mastered Occlumency The old fashioned way.

Now that that's out of The way, I will apologize for a few things: first, all of The capitalized 'The's. It's an issue with my auto-correct that I haven't been able to fix. I'll try, but I can't promise anything. Second, The amount of American language that is going to be used by British people. I'm American, and while I'll try to use Britishisms as much as possible, I'll forget occasionally, I'm sure. Thirdly, I apologize for The length of The preface. Without further ado, The prologue.

Prologue: Possibly Disastrous

Harry Potter was not in Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. As far as he knew, that place, with it's smallest bedroom, immaculately clean kitchen, and hated cupboard under The stairs, no longer existed. Harry Potter was currently in a very damp, very musty cellar that looked a lot like a dungeon, staring into a cauldron of which The contents defied every attempt to describe. The cauldron was situated in The center of a large diagram drawn into The floor, inlaid with silver, salt, and blood. Harry looked at The man who was watching The cauldron, presumably knowing that it was done. "Is it going to work, Tom?" He asked. Tom Riddle, once known as Lord Voldemort, glared at Harry. Once, not too long ago, before a bigger threat than Voldemort showed up, Harry would have withered at that glare, but he'd seen far too many things to care about it now. "I told you it's never been done before!" hissed Tom, and then, in what passed for his normal voice "I don't know, Harry. We're really completely out of our league, here. This is magic of The highest order, and even I, with my vaunted powers, cannot guarantee that it will work. Time travel is, to say The least, tricky business." He shook his head. "The only thing left to add is The blood of everyone that is going back." He pulled out a flask from his robes that contained a little bit of red liquid. "This is mine, add your own and get The others. This will be our last stand." he said in a slightly defeated, yet still defiant voice.

Harry walked in to The next room and observed The people inside before they noticed him. Neville Longbottom sat in a chair by The fire. He resembled Mad Eye now more than either of his parents. He had lost his left hand, which had been replaced by a silver one, courtesy of Tom, as well as a good portion of The left side of his face, which was now a mess of scar tissue. He still had both eyes, however, and they were sharp as knives. Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger stood at a table going over a book that seemed older than time itself, and with some of The things they had run into over The last few years, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. The three strange Americans who had shown up a few years ago with news that America was overrun sat in The corner playing cards at a rickety table. They were very good at their jobs, and were quite The force to be reckoned with, but they were still mortal, and had scars just as everyone else. The last two were possibly The saddest to see. Standing proud and sad like some platinum blonde Angel fallen from on high was Draco Malfoy. He looked so much like his father, who had fallen just after learning The error of his blood purity nonsense. He had saved them all, with his death, but it had still come as a blow. He stood talking to Ron Weasley. The once fiery and stubborn redhead was more reserved now, and had grown up remarkably. His family had died and now he had what he always wanted, something his brothers would never have. He was alive. They had all lost families, friends, and lovers. They had watched society crumble to dust and watched their own resistance faction dwindle frpm over a thousand strong to just The ten of them, huddled in a basement. And now it was time for them to go back and correct The many mistakes that had been made.  
Harry cleared his throat from The doorway and immediately had their attention. "It's time." was all he said, but everyone immediately stood up, glad that The waiting was over. They had a plan, they had The power, and they were about to get what they needed most: Time.  
The blood was added, The incantation spoken, The die cast and The pieces set. The ten people felt an inexplicable sensation and knew they had at least succeeded in doing something. They would stop this madness. They would stop The Scourge.

A/N: Yes, I know, horribly cliché name for an enemy of humanity, but fuck you, thinking of something new is difficult. I'll update this when I get The chance, and of course, reviews feed The muse.

Frost4211


	2. CH 1: Mentally Handicapped Lemmings

Chapter One: Mentally Handicapped Lemmings

"Boy!" the screeching voice of Petunia Dursley woke Harry. The battle honed reflexes and slight paranoia of his past life had him reaching for weapons that weren't there. 'Well, at least it seems that whatever that conglomeration Tom put together was, it did it's job. I just get to deal with The Dursleys again. Oh joy of joys.' Harry thought as his aunt screeched again for him to come and mind The bacon.

When he got into The kitchen there was a horrible smell coming from The sink, and he knew exactly what day it was. His Hogwarts letter would arrive today, and this time, thanks to some extremely useful skills, things would go quite differently. In fact, after he thought about it for a moment, since Tom wasn't after him any more, he didn't have to stay in this god forsaken hell hole for another minute.

At The table, Vernon opened his newspaper, as usual, and Dudley banged his new Smelting's stick on The table. 'I'd forgotten about that particular annoyance.' thought Harry, before mentally smiling to himself and thinking how much better showmanship was when you had props.

The mail slot clicked, and without any prompting, Harry went to get it. After using a bit of wandless magic to shrink his letter and pocket it, he decided to make his grand exit.

Walking back into The kitchen, he looked directly at Dudley. "You are a corpulent mass of offal, a disgusting example of human obesity, with The intelligence of a mentally handicapped lemming." he said with a completely straight face. Three faces stared at him while they tried to decipher what he had said. Leaning forward and adding to Dudley in a theatrically conspiratorial whisper "I just called you an idiot." he winked. Dudley immediately reacted. First, his overly large porcine features scrunched as he assimilated The two statements. Next, a red flush of anger rushed up his neck and face. Then, he started screaming threats and telling Harry to take it back and brandishing his Smelting's stick. Harry looked on amused. "Take it back or what?" he said "you'll hit me with a fish?" Dudley looked at him in momentary confusion before realizing that his Smelting's stick had suddenly turned into a very slimy example of a rainbow trout, which The Dursleys stared at in confusion and horror after it was dropped to The table. "Boy!" bellowed Vernon "Cupboard! Now! No food!" His face was purple with rage and Harry idly wondered if he would actually have a stroke this time. "No." he replied. Vernon looked at him bewildered for a moment before The purple in his face got a bit darker and a vein started pulsing. He raised his hand and Harry added "I wouldn't do that. You may end up trying to hit me with another fish." Vernon's face went from purple to white quite quickly. Petunia continued to stand by The sink in shock. Dudley was still trying to figure out what was going on.  
Harry decided to take control. "I have come into The knowledge that you people have been hiding things from me." He said in a very calm and business like tone. He pulled The shrunken letter out of his pocket and enlarged it before setting it on The table. "This is a letter from a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Their reactions to this were priceless. Dudley looked on in confusion, still trying to figure out why his beloved smelting stick was now a fish and not really paying attention to what Harry was saying. Vernon looked like he had swallowed said fish and it was still somehow horribly alive in his massive gut. Petunia simply fainted. Deciding that his theatrics needed more flair, Harry enervated petunia and levitated her upright. Looking at her, he said in his most frightening voice "Oh, you won't want to miss this, my dear Aunt." Waving his hand, less out of necessity and more for theatrical affect, The three Dursleys were bound to chairs and pushed up against one wall of The kitchen. "Now, we are going to fix some mistakes nature has made. Enjoy." He said The last word quite evilly as he concentrated. Later that day, animal control would be called to come and collect The pig formerly known as Dudley Dursley, The walrus formerly known as Vernon, and The ostrich that was once Petunia.

Having made sure his relatives were taken care of, Harry moved on to more important tasks. First, He isolated all of the tracking and monitoring spells on himself and modified them to show that he was always connected to The house and also always doing well. Next, he added a modified switching spell that would activate every couple of hours at random. To finish The deception, he went around The house placing The spell anchor on things in different rooms. He also went about The garden, down The street a ways, and to a park in The neighborhood, so that it would show he left The house occasionally. Since they would only need to be there for The short term, it would not be a problem when he went to Hogwarts to deal with a few problems that were overlooked The first time through.

Finishing with his deception, He walked out of The house, onto The sidewalk, and summoned The knight bus. A man he did not know started to give The standard speech until Harry teleported a galleon from his vault into his pocket and handed it to The conductor. "Diagon Alley. And give me a tooth brush." he said, and The bus banged into motion.

-SCENE BREAKS ARE AWESOME!-

Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, The Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, and almost many other things as Albus Dumbledore, was starting to wonder why he had agreed to go back in time. The idea was well planned out, very successful, even. There was just one thing. He was, at The moment, a disembodied spirit, haunting a very dreary forest in Albania. In his opinion, this was not The ideal circumstance for him to be in. They had not really had any idea of when they would be sent back to, only that they would be sent back far enough to stop The Scourge. Sighing to himself, Tom decided he would simply do what he did last time, for The moment, and wait for Quirrel to show up.

A/N: Whelp, here's Chapter One, in all of it's glory. Read it. Love it. Hate it. Flame it. I don't really care what you do so long as you give me some feedback, damn it. I've also decided to change a few things from my original preface. Dumblefucker is going to be pure, unadulterated, fuck-over-the-world evil with a capital EVIL. Thank my muse for that one. So yeah, there will be some Dumbledick bashing, I suppose.

Frost4211


	3. CH 2: Sneaky Goblins

Chapter 2:

Harry walked up to The door of The Leaky Cauldron, using one of The more useful bits of wandless magic he'd ever mastered, The wandless notice-me-not charm, he got into The pub without The crowds of people intent on shaking his hands, touching his clothes, or otherwise treating him like some sort of returned messiah. He had even thought about changing his name to Jesus, once, just for some variety.

Realizing that The time line was already irrevocably skewed, Harry decided that he would do whatever The hell he wanted, consequences be damned, until such time as he could act against The Scourge. Walking up to The bar, he caught The attention of that ageless and odd personage that was known as Tom The Barman. "I'll be staying here for The next week or so, at The least, could you see a room prepared for me?" Harry asked, doing his best to sound like an adult that only looked like a child, and occasionally forgot that fact. It wasn't hard, since it was true. He figured in a world with people like Filius Flitwick and Rubeus Hagrid, he could figure out a way for his appearance to be explained away. Tom fixed him with a penetrating gaze, and simply asked "And you'll be able to pay for this, son?" Harry huffed a bit in mock outrage. "Son? Sir, I will have you know I am older than I appear. I had a bit of an accident regarding spell creation and some household cleaning potions. I'd really rather not get into it any more than that. It's rather embarrassing." Tom cocked his head to The side a bit. "Okay, then, Sir. What name will The room be under?" Harry thought quickly. He immediately disregarded using his mothers maiden name. She was as well known as his father, after all, and he did have her eyes, apparently. "Masterson. Phillip Masterson." he said, pulling a name off The top of his head. He vaguely remembered killing an American by that name who was an agent for The Scourge. Needless to say, it wouldn't be recognized. Tom nodded. "I'll expect payment by The end of The night. Harry glanced at The clock on The wall. It was only noon. He would have plenty of time. "I'll need another favor, sir." said Harry. "In that unfortunate accident that caused my . . . problem, my wand was destroyed. I'm actually here to get a new one. So could I get you to open The alley for me?"

Tom The barkeep was nobody's fool. He may seem to be a yes-man, but he was a pretty quick witted individual. You had to be when your pub was neutral ground for damn near any magical species that deigned to walk in The door. "So, you look like you're around eight and you don't have a wand, then, Mr. Masterson?" Harry frowned. He could tell where this was going. Tom suspected something. Well, let's see how he deals with an explanation. "I see what you mean." said Harry. "It does seem a bit suspicious. I'll fill you in on a few of The details. I was working on an age reduction spell, cosmetic only, and for The purpose of letting The elderly witch who may be getting on in years save a bit of her youth, if you get my meaning. Well, while I was working, I happened to spill some tea on my workbench. I use it as a potions lab, too, so rather than have an unknown contaminate on The bench, I used some Ritchley's Wood-Cleaning Potion to clean it up. Now, here's where it all gets a little bit complicated. I happened to be touching that part of The bench when I did The final adjustments on The spell. I was casting it toward a mannikin that would show me The effectiveness, and what happened was I over-calculated The power output for The spell by a large amount. I'm still not sure how much, but I think it may have been up to a hundred times too much. The end result was that my wand exploded and The temporary spell had some sort of reaction with The cleaning potion that caused it to be a permanent change. I was blasted back into The body I had just before my magical core started to stabilize, my wand was destroyed, and I also ended up with some minor burns. Luckily, my wand vaporized, so I didn't get showered with shards of wood, but in The end I'm still in quite a pickle. Once I have a wand, though, I shouldn't have much of a problem getting it fixed." Harry took a deep breath after his somewhat long winded explanation and smirked internally. He'd listened to enough spell creation fanatics to know exactly what one sounded like. He did note that he would have to relay this to Hermione, because that was some doozy to come up with off The top of your head. By The glazed look in Tom's eye, he also knew a lot about spell creation fanatics going on about their work. "Right. Very unfortunate. Come with me, and I'll sort you out with The door."

Harry's first stop was Gringott's bank. The main reason being that using long-range wandless magic to teleport galleons out of his vault would soon get someone's attention. It wasn't exactly The kind of thing you could hide. He walked up to The nearest open teller, and stared The goblin straight in The eye. Most wizards never took The time to learn about goblin culture. In goblin culture, you always began a meeting with a stare-down. The only time it was permitted to give way was if you were providing a service, or if The other being was of a directly superior rank as you. Otherwise, it would go on until The next step happened, still maintaining eye contact. The next step in goblin formality was dependent upon what was to be done. In a matter involving money, it would be to offer a token of friendship. Usually silver. In a matter of friendship, it was a roman-style handshake, to prove that neither party held a weapon. In a matter of war, it was The offer of a weapon of suitable value and lethality. For instance, to negotiate with a goblin clan for help in a skirmish, one might present an ornamental dagger. For a full scale war, it may be a magical catapult. Everything in goblin culture depends on who, what, and how much. The surprised goblin teller met Harry's gaze, and ceded, as per his role as a service provider. Harry pulled a silver sickle out of his pocket, change from his bus ride, and passed it to The goblin. "Greetings, honored teller." he said in English. He could speak gobbledygook, but most goblins didn't want to hear it. "May I enquire as to your name?" another thing that most wizards overlooked is that in any dealing with a goblin, one should always find out The goblin's name. Goblins respect people more if they ask for their name. "I am teller Ripstone, at your service." The goblin paused. It had been centuries since a wizard had treated a goblin with The respect that was supposed to be accorded. "May I ask your name, honored guest?" asked The goblin, completing The ceremony of introduction. Harry frowned. "My name is not to be given in The company of many, teller Ripstone. If we may adjourn to more private surroundings, my business may be profitable to us both."

The goblin, Ripstone, lead Harry through a side door, and down a long, low hallway to a room with nothing but a desk and two chairs. "I assure you, honored guest, all here is private. May I now ask your name?" asked The curious goblin. Harry surreptitiously cast a few privacy spells of his own, before answering. "Honored Teller Ripstone, I present myself as Harry James Potter, last of The Potter line, and would claim my right to all vaults bequeathed to me by blood and law." The goblin's reaction did not show, but Harry knew he was dancing for joy on The inside. All of Harry's accounts, taken together, were worth a lot of money, which would accord Ripstone a lot of respect for being in charge of it. "Then we shall have to do The inheritance test." The goblin snapped his fingers, and a sheet of parchment appeared on The desk, along with a slender dagger. "You will need to place a drop of blood on this parchment, and it will show all families you are heir to, by blood and law." Harry sliced his finger, and when The blood touched The parchment, it began to turn into names. Potter was the first, followed quickly by Black, since Sirius, The last Black, was in prison for a life sentence and Harry was his godson. To The goblin's mild surprise, it kept going. Evans showed up, his mother's private vault. Peverell, his father being The last descendent of Ignocious Peverell, The only Peverell brother to survive long enough to have children. Gryffindor, through his father's side. Grindelwald, through a strange quirk of heredity, had been related to his mother, about four times removed, but he remained The sole survivor of that family. Riddle, by right of conquest. Harry was not surprised to see any of these. They had delved back into their genealogy before going back in time, Grindelwald was The last thing they could find in Harry's. What did surprise him was that it kept going. Pendragon, through his father's side. Beowulf through his mother's. Harry raised his eyebrows at The last two. "Are there actually vaults here in The Pendragon and Beowulf names?" he asked, honestly wondering if it was possible that Gringott's could be that old. The goblin snapped his fingers and a file appeared. Looking through it, he shook his head. "We have no accounts under those names. I would assume that The Pendragons had their wealth guarded secretly, probably by Merlin himself. And Beowulf's is long gone, having never been really hidden in The first place, if one knew where to look." Harry nodded. It did make sense. Just because he belonged to an old and prestigious family didn't necessarily mean there was anything material to show for it.

"I'd like to look in my vaults, Ripstone." Ripstone hesitated for a moment. "That is highly unusual, sir. Most accounts of this size are managed by an account representative goblin. In your case, that would be me because I was The one who facilitated your inheritance." Harry shrugged. "I'd like to see what's in these vaults myself. I assume there is more than money in them?" he asked. Due to a problem with his inheritance in The last time line, namely The destruction of Gringotts and The massacre of The goblins, Harry had never actually seen any of these vaults. Dumbledore, who ended up being a traitor of The worst kind, had been skimming out of The ones he knew about for years, letting Harry believe that there was nothing more for him than his trust vault. He was broke out of his musings on vengeful things to do to The leader of The "light" when The goblin cleared his throat. "Yes, there is. But before we get into that, there is one more thing you should know. Due to many of your ancestors status, you actually have a noble title." Harry cocked his head to one side. He figured he had one, but didn't think it would be worth much. "What does that mean, Ripstone?" The goblin shrugged. "Mostly that you own a lot of property and influential amounts of interest in many companies. I would say that you are quite well-off. You may also choose to be addressed as any of your titles which are . . . lets see . . . Baron Potter, Baron Black, Duke Peverell, Lord Gryffindor, Dark Lord Grindelwald (Harry was slightly amused by this, as he wasn't aware that Dark Lord was an actual noble title that was hereditary.), and Sir Riddle. The highest ranking one is Duke Peverell, closely followed by Lord Gryffindor, who was actually a Lord High Marshall." Harry thought for a moment. "What would be The easiest form of address to show respect, but not too terribly ostentatious." Harry knew Hermione would be proud of his use of The word ostentatious. She was constantly telling him he needed to, as she put it, expand his vocabulary horizons. "The easiest form of address would simply be Lord Potter." said Ripstone, "but you could also, if you really wanted to bother people, call yourself Lord Peverell-Gryffindor-Grindelwald-Potter-Black-Riddle." Harry covered his face with his hands. My god, he thought, I have more names than Dumbledore and Tom put together. "I'll stick with Potter." he said lamely. "Very well, Lord Potter, Which vault would you like to visit first?" Ripstone asked, opening a door in The wall that lead directly to one of The many infamous Gringotts mine carts. " Let's start with Potter, I suppose."

A few minutes later, after The obligatory mine cart ride, The boy and goblin stood outside of The Potter ancestral vault. Harry looked at Ripstone. "Is there any sort of ledger on hand that could give at least a rough estimate of what is inside?" Harry asked, thinking that if he had to wade through mountains of gold to find anything good, it was going to be rather time consuming. Ripstone shook his head. "Not for The various artifacts and family heirlooms, but The gold is kept in a separate vault, and is counted on a regular basis to calculate interest." Harry raised an eyebrow at this. He never knew that Magical families kept their heirlooms separate from their wealth. It was rather convenient though. Not to mention smart.  
Entering The Potter vault was somewhat like walking into a castle's trophy room. There were a few old suits of armor, and using a trick he'd picked up from an aboriginal witch doctor, he attuned his eyes to be able to see magic, in a way. Mage sight, as it was called, wasn't nearly as good as some of The spells That curse breakers had for this kind of thing, but it worked rather well for telling whether or not something was enchanted, and getting a basic idea of what kind of enchantment it had on it. Most of The suits of armor held minor enchantments, things such as shield charms over The more vulnerable areas, a few beautiful and highly outdated (even for The wizarding world) sets of clothing had charms for The detection of poison, or a charm that had The same sort of affect as a sneakscope, where The person wearing them would be alerted if anyone around them harboured ill intentions toward them, but most of it was relatively minor enchantments that, while useful, were nothing Harry or one of The other time-travelers couldn't do themselves.  
A few things, however, did stand out. The first thing that caught Harry's eye was a ring on a pedestal only a few feet into The vault. Looking at it, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Ripstone. "Ahh, The Potter family signet ring." he said. Harry picked it up, seeing a glow of magic but not recognizing The type of spell. "What does it do?" Harry asked, hoping The goblin would know, since he had known what it was on sight. The goblin chuckled. "Well, if you seal a letter with The signet ring, only The designated recipient of The letter can break The seal." he said. Harry thought that was a bit lame for an ancient family relic, but Ripstone did not seem to be finished. He grinned slyly at Harry. "And . . . wearing it in public would make many people quite jealous of you." Harry shook his head. Goblin humor was heavily based on sarcasm. Shrugging, he placed The ring in his pocket anyway. Much better than coded messages, at least.  
The second thing in The Potter vault that caught his eye was actually rather strange. It looked like little more than an ordinary rock, but when Harry showed it to Ripstone, there was definite greed in The goblins eyes. "Yes . . ." he murmured. "It was rumored that they had a piece of it . . ." Harry looked at The rock and said a bit half heartedly. "A piece of . . .what, exactly?" Ripstone seemed to jerk back to reality. "That, young Lord Potter, is a piece of The original Luckstone. The one that they tout so much in Ireland is merely a pale imitation. The stone itself is useless, at The moment, but there are a few things that can be done with it. Carved into a pair of dice, Those dice would become Chaos Dice, able to make bends and warps in The fabric of reality. Another use would be to plant it in a patch of soil along with shamrocks. The stone would dissolve, but The shamrocks would all have four leaves, and while they were green and fresh they would function as a somewhat weaker version of felix felices, or liquid luck, as it's called. The third use, and arguably The most difficult in this day and age, is to find a true wishing well and drop The stone in. You would be given one wish, one wish for anything at all." The goblin finished solemnly. Harry pondered The implications of such a thing. Being able to control The fabric of reality, to an extent. Having a permanent source of luck. Having one perfect wish. He was broken out of his musings by a rather jarring though. All The time he had been speaking with The goblin, The goblin had addressed him as an adult, and not a child. He decided he should probably reinforce his act of being eleven year old Harry Potter. "Anything I wanted . . ." he said with feigned awe. He already knew what he would wish for. A bloody, violent, embarrassing, and painful end to The Scourge and it's agents. Those demons and worse things from The endless plains. Revenants, The spirits of The evil dead given physical form once more, The evil humans that chose their side, Liches of remarkable power. All that and more were The Scourge, and they would end humanity if they didn't stop it. Riprock started speaking then. "yes, theoretically. Yet to all of our current knowledge, no true wishing wells exist anymore." he said. "Oh, and Lord Potter? I know you're not an eleven year old boy. Pretending is not going to do you any good." Harry turned to look sharply at The goblins frightening grin.

A/N: Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? Big thank you to Smithback for reminding me to start writing again. I apologize for The wait. I'll try to update a little more often, but I recently got a job, and moved, and it's been quite tiring. I'm not positive where this is going, but I think I'm getting a good idea. Thanks for reading, and if you rate and review I will be made happier, and I won't eat The souls of your family. This week. Next Chapter . . . More cool stuff! The rest of The Potter vault and The others, and finally a monetary amount for Harry's Net worth. Plus maybe some stuff on The others, if there's time.

Frost

({[SURVEY EXTRAVAGANZA!]})

For those of you interested, I haven't quite decided on what to do with that bit of stone. I'd like votes and ideas. You'll know which one I decide on whenever I decide to use it in the story. Vote away, folks. It'll warm the cockles of my heart. Your opinions on other matters are also greatly appreciated.


	4. CH 3: Never know who needs stabbing

Chapter 3:

Harry stared at Ripstone for a moment, wondering if he could silence the goblin before the cry for alarm was heard. There was, however, no need. "I do not pretend to know why you are an exception, but if you were truly an eleven year old boy, then the Potter family signet would not have allowed you to remove it, also the magic of the inheritance test would have listed you as the heir apparent to all of those families. Instead, you were listed as the head, which means that magic itself sees you as an adult. If I was a betting goblin, which I am, I would bet that there is much more to you, Lord Potter, than meets the eye." He finished, with an appraising look. "But that's none of my business."

There was little of further interest in the Potter vaults. The most exciting item that was found, and taken when it was, was a wallet and dagger set that Harry found in a glass display case. The wallet that he found was made of mokeskin, that wonderful material that would shrink when anyone but the owner tried to grab it, and the dagger was heavily enchanted, carrying enough magic to let it cut through steel without going dull. Harry figured it might be a useful toy, and strapped the sheath to his forearm. As Frost always says, its always good to have a knife, because you never know when someone will need a good stabbing.

The next vault on the list was the Blacks. Harry approached the door after the obligatory cart ride, and hesitated a moment. The Blacks were not the type of people to suffer the theft of their family line lightly. Harry turned to Ripstone. "Do you know what kind of protections are on this vault, honored teller?" Harry asked, hoping the goblin knew. The goblin stared at the door a moment before answering. "Good catch, Lord Potter, on this door is a curse that would slay anyone not of the black family. It is easily circumvented, but because you call yourself lord potter, it would have ended you easily." Harry felt a chill go up his spine. He needed to remember that just because the world had come out of the ruin it was in the future didn't mean that it was not still a dangerous place. "Can you disable the ward?" Harry asked. The goblin shook his head. "No, but then, I shouldn't need to. Simply call out that you are the new Lord Black before you touch the door, and since it is a truthful statement, the curse cannot lay claim to you." Harry swallowed heavily as he approached the door. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "I am Harold James Black, new Lord and Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, come to my inheritance." Harry intoned as he touched the door. He braced for the shock of killing magic, but it never came. Instead, the door slid up, to show a chamber filled with gold and jewels and priceless artifacts.

Harry stared into the vault for a moment, before turning to Ripstone. "Why is this vault mixed?" He asked, wondering at the foolishness of wizards. The goblin smiled. "Not every family head has been as smart as one Hadrian Potter, who had the idea to split the two vaults. This is what the majority of our other vaults look like." Harry strolled in and glanced around. Much like the potter vault, this one held a ring upon a pedestal, but rather than picking it up immediately, Harry examined it with his Mage sight. "Ripstone, is it just me, or is there a rather nasty withering blight curse on that ring?" Ripstone looked at the ring for a moment, before nodding his head. "It would appear," he said "that Arcturus Black wanted his son see to his displeasure at his life choices most keenly after his death." Harry just chuckled a bit _I always wondered where Tom got the idea for that curse._ Turning away from the ring, he shook his head. "I'll leave it for now, I have no use for it, and I'd like to keep my body parts intact."

Digging through the vault for another hour or so, Harry stumbled across a very strange find. On a table near the back sat row upon row of small black statuettes of animals. There were horses, owls, big cats, lizards, and many other different types. All of them radiating magic. "Ah, yes." said Ripstone. "The Ebon Figurines. Each one has a captive pookah, and as such all it takes is a little magic to bring it to life, full size. Sometimes even a little bigger. I do not know what each individual statue does, but you could always experiment." Harry nodded thoughtfully as he grabbed a skeletal horse-shaped figurine. unlike the others, it's shape was only vaguely defined. He slipped it into his pocket. "I'll be back for these later, I think. I have a friend who would love them." he said, thinking of Luna.

Realizing that he had spent too much time here already, and with many things left to do before the day ended, he resolved to come back the next day and finish his tour of his mother's vault, along with Grindelwald's, Gryffindor's, and the Peverell's. He would leave Tom's vault alone, since he planned on giving him back his family status as soon as he had a body to give it back to. Filling his wallet from the Black fortune and asking Ripstone to return them to the surface, Harry prepared for a little more work today.

Back on the surface with Ripstone, Harry was brought into an office to answer a few last questions. Ripstone got right to the point. "Lord Potter, I would like you to be aware that it is highly unusual for a wizard to run his own investments, and take charge of his own finances. While I find it reprehensible that most wizards are so arrogant as to allow their money to be handled by others, I find that with your fortune, it would be ill of me to advise you to take care of it for yourself. I would be willing to do this for two percent of your interest, a small amount, and a commission of oh, say, twenty percent on all sales of non-solid assets such as stocks that I do on your behalf." Harry thought for a second. He was about to agree, when a thought crossed his mind. "Ripstone . . . exactly how much is my total worth?" Ripstones facial muscles tensed a bit, but his expression never wavered. "All of your vaults combined together, Lord Potter, put you at about three-quarters of a billion galleons, liquid. It is impossible to appraise your assets because many are priceless." Harry nodded his head. "And what is my current interest rate?" he asked innocently. Ripstone's face seemed to tighten a bit more, seeing where this was going. "five percent, accruing every four months." he said, hating the words as he said them. Harry nodded. "So, I may be wrong, but with the information you are giving me, you would be making about seven hundred and fifty thousand galleons every four months, without commissions, correct?" "That is correct, sir." sighed the goblin, knowing that he had been caught. He had failed at using the small numbers to make himself some big ones. Harry was still nodding. "Okay, how about we do the two percent, and then cut the commission down to, say, five percent, so that you won't waste your time making penny ante sales, hmm?" Harry asked, smiling wickedly. The goblin smiled back, not expecting any commission on top of a salary that would leave him living the high life. "It shall be done, then, sir!" he said, bowing politely. Harry stood up. "If we have no further business, I do believe I will be off to buy a wand." The goblin cleared his throat and Harry raised an eyebrow. "If I might be so bold, sir, Ollivander, while a truly wonderful wandcrafter in his own right, is not one who is likely to sell a wand to an unaccompanied child. It may behoove you to try to find a wandcrafter from a _darker_ part of town." with that, Harry nodded, and used the public floos in gringott's to find himself in Nocturn Alley.

Nocturn Alley is a smelly, dirty, nasty little scum hole that intersects with diagon alley diagonally, running from north to south. The other street that intersected from east to west used to be Virtue Alley, but it was destroyed during the muggle bombings of World War Two. The magicals attributed it to earthquakes, since muggles could _never _cause that much destruction. Harry had pulled up his hood to hide his face, and cast his notice me not charm before stepping into the floo. He wandered past hags and people who wore the obvious signs of lycanthropy. A few people he was pretty sure were vampires stuck close to the sides of the buildings. Not much light penetrated into Nocturn Alley, but even a tiny bit could cause a vampire immense pain. Harry weaved his way through the press of dirty people and found himself in front of a shop with a sign that said **Canis Wands Est. A.D. 3**. Opening the door, he saw it was a dark shop, with nothing but a counter about halfway through the room and a few chairs. There was a steel grill with slots along the bottom across the counter and it looked as though someone could try to blow it up and easily fail. Behind the counter was a thin man with pale skin and a bored expression. He looked up and smiled at Harry, revealing very pointed teeth. Vampire.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to Canis wands, what can I do for you today?" He asked, eyeing Harry predatorily. Harry approached the counter cautiously. It wasn't that he was afraid of the vampire, although he was glad there was a grill between them, it was more that the vampire had easily seen through his notice me not spell. That meant he was an old vampire. Possibly Canis himself. Either way, there was nothing for it but to push forward. "I need a wand, custom if you can swing it." Harry said, eyeing the vampire. The vampire smiled again. "Why would such a _sweet_ little thing like yourself be interested in a custom wand?" He said. Harry felt the warning twinge of someone trying to influence his mind, and realized that it was vampiric telepathy. Holding up his hand, Harry said in a mild voice "_Solaris!" _and a bright glow formed around his hand. The Solaris spell is an upgraded version of the lumos spell. It creates light that exactly replicates sunlight, to the extent of being very painful to vampires. The one behind the counter shrieked and dove for the floor, a smoke trail following him behind the counter. "_Nocturnis" _Harry said, ending the spell. The vampire slowly poked his head up from behind the counter, half his face a blistered, bleeding wreck, but healing fast. "Ah, I see you are more competent than you seem, my little gentleman. Perhaps we may do business, indeed." As he spoke his face healed the rest of the way. That meant that he was, in fact, a very old vampire. Young vampires take days or even weeks to heal from sun wounds. Less than a minute meant centuries old at the least. Harry nodded his head. "I can conjure stakes, too. Bear that in mind."

The vampire looked Harry over and nodded. "I take it you've had an Ollivander wand before?" he asked. At Harry's nod, he chuckled. "Well, this process is like a deconstructed version of that one. Instead of trying wands, you will first find the wood, then the core of your wand. There's also a few . . . accessories we can add if they're compatible for you, but most people don't have the power for them." The vampire walked over to a small half-gate in the counter and opened it up. "Come on back, my little gentleman. I have many things to show you." Harry felt a chill go down his spine at those words. Hoping that the vampire didn't intend to have him for lunch, Harry squared his shoulders, made sure his dagger was securely strapped to the inside of his forearm, and hoped like hell he survived this.

A/N: I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! at least for a little while. So i've borrowed a couple ideas from people and twisted them a bit. Rorschach's Blot may recognize a few things, as well as some other people, but I assure them I ste . . . err . . . borrow things without any malice, and since none of us are making any money off this anyway, why does it matter. I'd like people to hit up my poll about the luckstone, and I really do apologize for the long wait between chapters. If anyone still reads this, then have a nice day. and review. so i don't eat your family. and pets.


	5. CH 4: Dementor Boned

Chapter 4: The vampire turned away from Harry, leaving the gate open for him to follow. Harry squared his shoulders and stepped through. There was a dark hallway with doors on either side, and the vampire led him to one on the left. Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he had to ask "How old are you?" The vampire hesitated for a moment before opening the door. "That is a very personal question, little gentleman." He said, cocking his head to one side. "But I'll answer you, tit for tat. You tell me how old you are, and I'll tell you how old I am." Harry shrugged, not caring if a vampire knew his age. "I am in the body of an eleven year old, but my mind is twenty-five. Your turn." The vampire smiled, showing his teeth. "I thought as much. I was turned shortly after the execution of the Christ. I was thirty-five then." Harry shuddered at the thought of living so long. "So you are Canis, then? The original owner of this shop?" The vampire nodded. "Of course I am. A vampire would never pass on his legacy. It is against our nature. We expect to live forever. It's really an annoying piece of our psychology. Makes it difficult to plan in the short-term."

Harry finally took the time to look around the room and was a bit surprised. It wasn't dark, or musty. It was fairly well it, with work stations and cauldrons set up for various purposes. Canis went to one of the benches and grabbed a thick muggle binder from the side. "Sorry about the lack of floating tape measure." he said offhandedly, "that's really just a distraction for the muggle-born. Your physical body has nothing to do with your wand. A person you may know, a Fillius Flitwick, uses a wand that is unusually long, almost fifteen inches, and that of course does not reflect in his size." He opened the binder to Harry. "Just run your hands along the pages, take your time, and just go with what feels right." Harry did as he was told, going through the entire book, remembering which ones had the strongest pull. "I think the rowan is the strongest, but holly pulls strongly too . . ." Harry said, slightly confused. Canis waved his hand "doesn't matter. It's not hard to incorporate both." He took the book from Harry and returned it to his desk. He returned with an unremarkable looking stick. "Here, hold this a moment." He said, tossing the stick to Harry. Seeker reflexes kicked in and he caught it, almost dropping it in surprise when it felt like it writhed in his hand. Canis snatched it out of his hand, and grinned at him. "That's going to give me the length. Looks like about eleven inches, but may be more or less. I never did have a good eye for these things." Finally, he asked Harry "What was the core of your last wand?" Harry was surprised by the question. "Phoenix feather, why?" Canis shuddered a bit. "Well, then we'll have to test you for a new core. Phoenix feather's great, but it's one of the lesser cores. Phoenix blood is the greater core for phoenixes." Canis was pulling various bottles and droppers from a cabinet by one of the cauldrons as he spoke. "Alright, now come over here and stir this three times clockwise, seven times anticlockwise, and then add a hair." Harry did as he was told, and there was a hissing sound from the potion. Canis scooped what was left up in a small bottle and took it over to a counter. "This is a cabinet of my own creation." He said, pointing to a small cupboard, waist-high, with a hole in the top funneling down. He poured the potion into the hole and waited a bit. "Basically, all my materials are stored in this cabinet, and the potion pulls the ones that apply to you out of storage. It's a wonderful creation, if I do say so myself." There was a ding, much like the one Harry remembered his aunt Petunia's oven making when it was finished, and Canis opened the doors. Inside there was a small vial of red liquid, phoenix blood, Harry presumed, along with a long crystal-like shard. Harry raised his eyebrow at the shard. So did Canis. "I forgot I had one of those. Picked it up about five hundred years ago. It's a dementor bone. Didn't think I'd ever be able to use it for anything. Huh." Canis collected the blood and bone, and grabbed the wood off the workbench. "Give me ten minutes, I'll have the rough stuff done. Then we can work on . . . extras." He said, grinning.

Ten minutes later, Canis came back in with a rather ordinary looking stick. He twirled it in his fingers and handed it to Harry. "Give her a wave, Sir." Harry took the wand, and felt a connection stronger than any other he had felt. It was as if his wand became an extension of his magic, amplifying it. He pointed his new wand at the fireplace and said "_incendio"._ A ball of fire eighteen inches in diameter shot out the end with a crack, lighting up the room and starting the fireplace to crackling merrily. Harry stared down at the wand. Usually, his incendio spell was about eight inches, and that was a large one. He stared at Canis, who shrugged. "The ministry has never wanted people to realize their full potential. It's very difficult to get a hold of some of the more powerful wand cores. Luckily, I have a lot of them in storage from a few hundred years ago." He smirked. "Now, on to the extras. The first is purely cosmetic. Metal inlay?" Harry thought for a moment. He was about to say no when a thought occurred to him. "Would silver work?" he asked. Canis grinned a feral grin. "Why yes, yes it would. Worried about weres, are we?" He asked. Harry shrugged. "Never a bad idea to have some silver on hand." Harry smiled back. Canis pulled a small stone out of a drawer on the workbench and handed it to Harry. It glowed as soon as it touched Harry's hand and Canis took it back. "Hmm . . . so it looks like we'll be able to get you a couple of runes, too. You seem to be compatible with . . . strength . . . purity . . . and control. Not a bad combination. The purity rune is sort of a buffer rune, but strength and control will empower your spells, and let you control the amount of power in your spells, respectively." Canis let out a sigh. "Our time is almost over, little gentleman. Give me an hour or so to put all of this together, and bring seventy galleons for payment. I'll throw in a polishing kit for free, too." Harry didn't mind paying the seventy galleons, even though it was ten times as much as Ollivander charged. The wand looked to be worth it.

An hour later, new wand in hand, and wondering what kind of havoc he could wreak with a wand that had no tracking charm on it, Harry retired to the Leaky Cauldron for a meal and bed. He still had some things he wanted to buy, but he wanted to meet up with a few of the others first. He showed Tom the Barman his new wand, and put his payment for the night on the table, before going up to his rooming and trying some simpler spells out with his new wand. All in all, it had been a pretty good day.


	6. Durance Vile

Chapter 5: Durance Vile

Frost could feel course sheets, and an almost flat pillow. The mattress was hard and there was at least one spring digging into the small of his back. 'Oh goody.' he thought 'back at the orphanage. Fuck.' He rolled out of bed and glanced at the bedside clock that some worthy soul had donated to all the orphanages children. Four thirty in the morning. At least he would be able to escape the orphanage without anyone knowing he was gone. He needed to get to Salem and rendezvous with Irish and Bear.

Victor Frost was an American born to uncertain parents and left on the doorstep of a firehouse in August of 1980. He'd gone to an orphanage, a generically named Saint Mary's Children's Home. He was a smaller boy, skinny, with brown hair and striking blue eyes. He used to get bullied by the older kids, but that was before he learned to aim for the soft tissue and to keep hitting until someone pulled him off. Looking at his young, scrawny frame, he sighed. It was going to be a bitch getting back in to shape.

In the original timeline, Frost was invited to attend the Salem Institute for Gifted Children at age eleven, on a scholarship for orphaned children. He accepted, or rather was forced to accept by the orphanages staff because his scholarship would include room and board for the year, and ended up studying magic in September of that year. He excelled in his studies, when he could be bothered to, and passed his exams with flying colors. He ended up going into the hit wizard recruitment program at age 16 with the only two people he got along with at Salem, Irish and Bear. The three of them were assigned to the same team, and had a whirlwind career and a reputation for bringing them in dead. Less paperwork, you understand. Before they went back, they had tried to plan for all eventualities, since they didn't know precisely when they would be going back to. One of those eventualities had been for Harry to access Hogwart's records, to add Frost, Irish, and Bear to the acceptance list, under an exchange program.

Slipping out the back door of the orphanage and around the corner, Frost concentrated on his destination, and turned on his heel. He landed in a blind alley in Salem's magical shopping district. looking around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, he took off into the early morning to meet with Irish and Bear.

00oSCENEo00 Voldemort rode the winds quietly in the Albanian forest. There wasn't much to do when one was nothing but a wraith. He was excited, though, since today was finally the day that the idiot Quirrel would come wandering into the woods. Unlike what most people believed, Quirrel was never one of his marked followers. He was just a fool who was intimidated and coerced with dreams of power. He never would have survived Voldemort's resurrection process, but the fool didn't need to know that. And speaking of the fool...

Quirrel was walking down the path, his wand lit, muttering to himself. Voldemort played it exactly like he had the last time. Drifting in front of Quirrel, nothing but a dark cloud with red eyes, he whispered softly of power and riches. Quirrel listened in mute fascination, and when Voldemort saw the chance, he latched on to the weakling's soul, tearing into it and making himself at home. Sure, it was evil. But hey, he was a dark lord after all.

Instead of leaving the quivering heap in control, this time, Voldemort instead devoured his identity, giving himself full control of the body, and as an added bonus, not having to live as a parasite on the back of a stuttering dolt's head. Win-win, in his opinion. Quirrel's face changed subtly, looking less and less like him. He never reached the full-on snake face look, but that's what happens when you don't do a homunculus resurrection ritual. You end up with a body that isn't disgusting to look at. In the end his face settled into a much more Tom Riddle like appearance. Voldemort shrugged his shoulders to settle himself in his new body, and twirled the wand in his hand. Dragon heartstring and oak, ten inches. It would have to do. He needed to remember to get a new wand when he got the chance. And a new name, come to that.

00oSCENEo00

Harry sat idle in his room, toying with his new wand. He pulled out his Hogwarts letter, scribbled an acceptance, and then realized he forgot something rather important. Throwing on his jacket and slipping his shoes back on, he scrambled out the door and out into Diagon Alley. He reached his destination, threw the door open, and made a bee-line for the teller. He was breathing rather heavily now, and what came out was something along the lines of "Snowy . . . owl . . . sale . . . how much?" The teller looked at him oddly, told him three galleons, and watched him scoop out the necessary money, along with some extra for various supplies. Ten minutes later the newly named Hedwig II was winging her way toward Hogwarts with Harry's acceptance note.

After rescuing one of his oldest friends from durance vile, Harry sat contemplating how best to break in to Hogwarts. He needed to get in in order to spoof the detection and tracking spells that Dumbledore had on him, but in order to do that, he needed to get in to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Hogwart's wards were nothing to sneeze at, and he was a little bit wary of trying to break them down on his own. Sure, he had power, but these wards were meant to protect the castle from an army of trained combat mages. He wasn't sure he was up to it, to be honest. Instead, he thought maybe a subtler idea was in order. A call to Malfoy Manor was in order.

Draco sat with his head in the fireplace, staring at Harry Potter. "So, you want to know if there's any holes in Hogwart's wards that would let you in so you can disable or spoof all the old man's detection and tracking spells." he said with a straight face. Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yeah. Any ideas." Draco stared at him blankly. "You, the son of one of the marauders, who owned the marauder's map for years and used it frequently, are asking me if there are any secret ways in to Hogwarts castle." Draco shook his head. "Potter, you are an idiot. Use one of the secret passages. Moron." The floo connection abruptly cut off, and Harry was left sitting on the floor, feeling like an idiot. "Why didn't I think of that?" He said to no one in particular.

Two hours later, Harry Potter was coming out of the secret passage from Honeydukes, looking around to orient himself. Hogwarts had died years ago in his timeline, and he was a little rusty on his navigational skills. Eventually, he did manage to get to the headmaster's office, but it took a while, and he had to dodge Peeves a couple of times. As he stood contemplating the gargoyle, a sudden thought struck him. The castle liked to use password protected things as door guardians. However, it didn't necessarily use resilient things. Remembering that the gargoyle was one of the most acerbic, annoying, cheeky little bastards in the entire castle, Harry pulled his wand and said one word. "_Bombarda" . The resulting explosion reduced the gargoyle to nothing and did an admirable job of opening the door. Harry went up to the headmaster's office. It took him roughly an hour to trick and falsify all of the various devices in the old man's office. Some of those devices were so old they were Atlantean in origin. That was impressive. Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was what the Scourge had paid Dumbledore in, the power and technology of Atlantis would be a wonderful prize to anyone, and Dumbledore had always thirsted for powerful artifacts. His search for the Deathly Hallows was proof of that. After doing his job, he briefly stopped by the record books and sent acceptance letters to the three Americans, and smirked as he did. With those three attending, Hogwarts was going to be a very different place. a couple of quick charms on various possessions of the old man's, a quick repair spell on the gargoyle, and a trip back through the secret passage and he was done for the night. Damn, it was good to be bad sometimes._

_A/N: Whatever, I got bored so I updated. It's just filler, really. Review, or I'll do something distressing to your dead grandmother._


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